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Writer's pictureMichael Warden

TO THE LOST SOULS


Zion National Park, Utah, March 2017. Copyright © Michael D. Warden. All Rights Reserved.

TO THE LOST SOULS



I came

in the late morning

of my life

seeking love


I searched

every face

for that rare elixir

of true recognition


Who can see

my mad tearing dance,

this savage unleashing

in my breast?


No one.

No one.


This has become my despair

a bitter revelation


I sought then

the middle way

to slip unnoticed

into the march

of the grand promenade

but I failed

to calculate

for my wildness


I am

the body of a man

with the heart

of a creature

I scarcely know

a baboon in heat

a wolf on the hunt

an eagle in flight

I am untamable


This has become my undoing

my true anointing


I tried

to bend the knee

to conformity

but I found

there is no belonging

in it


I belong to the wildness

the unbridled way

my back unbent

by the weight of masks

my heart out of hiding

vulnerable, tender

exposed to the sun


To the lost souls

like me

who are still

pretending

here is what I say:


There is no cost

greater

than in choosing

to be yourself


Except

choosing not to be


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